


Press The Wound

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Season 7 AU, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam never lost his soul, but the memories of Hell never leave. His hallucinations consume him, the memories of hell burning throughout his body. Dean is the only person in the world who knows what it's like to return from such a place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Real Illusions

**Author's Note:**

> Season 7 AU. It loosely follows the first half of season 7, but Sam never lost and regained his soul; these demons are here from Hell itself. Parts of plot and dialogue have been taken and/or altered from canon episodes. Remember it is an AU, therefore subject to sway from the canon storyline. No copyright intended. I have gone back and forth as to whether I have included wincest. It's probably between the lines, but take it as you will.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Even back in the real world, Lucifer's voice never left him. Or was it the real world? The devil's voice rang in his ears _"You're still in the cage." "You're still in the cage." You never left, Sam."_ But he _did_ escape, he knew he did. Sam could remember waking up with light in his eyes and this blissful feeling of absolutely _nothing_ ; no pain, no fear, no guilt. There was even air now where he was, trees rustling in it and birds chirping.

For that moment, Sam forgot about everything in his life.

Then Lucifer had been calling to him. When Sam's eyes swept open and he looked around, however, the man was nowhere to be seen. He closed his eyes again. The voice returned, _"Sammy..."_. That was the start of Sam never sleeping through the night.

He had opened his eyes and stood, making the long walk to find the only person who might be able to help him.

That was almost two years ago. Now the voice was still there, but this time it invaded his memory even when he was awake. Even Dean was starting to notice, and that was the last thing Sam needed.

"Sam? You there?"

Sam shook his head and cleared his throat, ignoring the voice and paying attention to his brother. "Yeah, sorry, what did you say?"

Dean raised his eyebrows "I asked if you wanted a beer, but since you already seem to be drunk enough..."

Sam just shook his head again. "Nah, I'm fine. Just...gonna get some air."

Dean nodded, the creases of confusion still embedded on his forehead. "Okay, man. Be quick, I want to get back to Bobby's and talk about this poltergeist problem."

"I'll just be a second, going to get a coke."

Sam left the motel room and ambled along and between the cars parked outside the rooms. He had all but forgotten about the poltergeist he and Dean had been attempting to track down for the last week. Sam was just being this useless tagalong for all the hunts recently, and he could tell that Dean was starting to notice.

_"Even in your fantasy world you've become a burden."_

He didn't even flinch at the voice anymore, or look around and try to see who was saying it. Sometimes there were visual hallucinations, but not today. He couldn't feel Lucifer's presence anywhere but in his mind.

_"You know you could just come back here. Never much of a burden to me, Sammy."_

"Stop calling me that." He kept his voice low, almost sounding like a wild hiss.

_"Aw, why? Is that Dean's special name for you? Sammy, Sammy, Sammy."_

Sounded like the patronising school girls, singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song, only this time it was coming from someone who was quite possibly millions of years old. If he was even real.

_"Oh, I'm very real, Sammy."_

Sam chose to try and ignore that. He was still trying to convince himself that there was nothing in his mind, just leftover fear and craziness from the time spent in hell. He wasn't there anymore, he was here in _this_ world. In _this_ reality.

_"How do you seriously think you could have escaped, Sam? I don't keep my box one key fits all. I let you in, I take you out. That's just the way it works."_

"Shut up," Sam said, and then looked up to see a child scurrying across the car park with his eyes never leaving Sam.

_"See, even a kid thinks your nuts and I'm sure he has an imaginary friend."_

Sam kept walking, noticing how the night was becoming darker and wondering just how long he had been out here -

_"Only about ten minutes. Time sure stands still when you're with someone you love!"_

\- and if Dean would come looking for him. Sam hoped he wouldn't, he didn't want to have any chick flick moments of explanation. At least out here, it was only him and his mind -

_"You mean me, Sammy?"_

\- and no one else had to be a part of what he was going through. Just up to Sam himself. He swallowed down the memories of what that did to him in the past, and was grateful that Lucifer didn't chime in with his two cents, either.

The kid had now found his way back into a motel room. Maybe more to keep his thoughts from his sanity than anything, Sam started to speculate on just why that child was here. As far as he knew, and admittedly that wasn't much, it was in the midst of the school year.

Sam could remember how he and Dean would be pulled out in the middle of the school year for another hunt. It went on for years until Sam put his foot down and demanded that he stay in school, just for that chance at a normal life. It wasn't the normal life most people would search for, moving from school to school every month, but it was close enough as a Winchester.

 _"You,_ normal _?"_ A scoff. _"Sam, don't you remember our little trip down memory lane?"_

Only all too well. Seeing all of those demon eyes in the people he thought were his friends at one point. He could easily remember that deep fear of dread, fear, of that his life was spiralling out of control. Sam walked faster, turning to start a lap of this car park.

_"You can't run, Sam. Can't you see that?"_

He kept going, legs at a speed walk and heart at a run. His head was clouded with his own thoughts, thoughts he no longer seemed able to escape. He shivered, suddenly, and knew that _he_ was here.

"Happy to see me?"

Sam didn't even look up. With Lucifer right in front of him, the devil's voice was louder and more demanding. Sam kept walking, knowing that he wouldn't run into Lucifer. He'd tried that before, though at that point a knife had been in his hand.

Just a hallucination, a delusion, a fake entity as a result of going through so much trauma. Truth be told, Sam hardly remembered what actually happened in Hell.

Lucifer laughed. "Oh, sure you don't."

 _I don't_. Sam clenched his jaw and rounded the next corner of the lot. Almost back at the door of the room now, and he would be forced to confront Dean again. Dean, the person who was now questioning Sam's every movement. Sam _hated_ that, it made him feel like a little kid again.

"Maybe you like that," Lucifer pestered, "This is your fantasy, after all."

Sam stopped dead then, eyes whipping up to match with Lucifer's. He could remember what it was like to have that entity push Sam's own mind into the tiniest part of his brain and soul. He could remember just what it felt like to have that much _evil_ infesting his body.

"And you loved every second of it."

Without even registering it, Sam had thrown a punch at Lucifer. Stupid move. He then felt a clench on his wrist. That was knew; Lucifer had never been able to touch him before.

"If I were you, I'd think twice before biting the hand that feeds you or, you know, keeps you alive."

Sam ripped his hand away and stumbled backwards, breathing heavy and eyes wild at the sight. "Why don't you just kill me?"

"But where would be the fun in that?" He smirked. "Besides, Sammy, if you die you just end up right back in the hole with me."

Sam followed Lucifer with his eyes as the devil made a wide circle around Sam. Always trying different methods to drive him crazy, but why?

"You should be _thanking_ me, Sam. If it weren't for me, you'd just be down in that cage wasting away with all those demons."

"You put me there in the first place." Sam clenched both his jaw and fists.

"True, true." He smiled and stopped his pacing, taking two steps in toward Sam. Sam noticed he didn't have any breath. "But isn't it fun to have me as your bunk buddy?"

Sam didn't even have to answer. Of course he didn't; Lucifer was a figment of his imagination and would know every thought.

"Be grateful, Sam, I'm letting you see your brother. Down in that cage, it was the only thing you ever wanted. Didn't matter how much we tortured you, you just needed you big brother to protect you." His voice turned patronising at the last part, false puppy dog eyes staring into Sam. He hated him. If ever hatred had filled Sam's heart, it was here right now.

"You know deep down you don't hate me, Sam," Lucifer said, "Given enough time, Stockholm Syndrome will change all of those thoughts in your brain."

Lucifer poked a finger against Sam's temple, leading Sam to shy away. "Calm down, Sam, I was once inside you, remember?" He laughed, the sound deep and grating to Sam's ears. "Sounds dirty when I put it like that, doesn't it?"

Sam didn't say anything, his eyes just moved around the parking lot. He wondered if anyone would notice a full grown man standing here and talking to himself. When he looked back to the place Lucifer had been, no one was there. He couldn't even feel his presence anymore.

Then all that anger and adrenaline that arrived as a result of Lucifer's voice was suddenly gone, and Sam felt shaky on his feet. That was always the case, and he felt sick to admit that it was almost as though Lucifer was keeping him _alive_.

_"I am, Sammy. I'm like your new brother, only I'm always going to be there."_

With the voice, the heartbeats picked up again and Sam was on edge once more. At least now he didn't feel like he was either about to throw up or faint. But he hated that. More than the light-headedness, he hated knowing Lucifer was the one who kept him stable.

In a stability that also doubled as insanity.

_"Hey, some people call insanity genius."_

"I don't _want_ that sort of genius."

He wasn't sure how, but he could _feel_ Lucifer shrugging. _"Suit yourself. Would you rather go back to the sleepless nights and slumber parties with me?"_

"No," Sam spat.

_"Sorry, Sammy, but that wasn't a choice."_

"What do you want, to turn me crazy?"

He laughed. _"Isn't it a bit too late for that? I mean, I'd like to take_ all _the credit, but that would be a tad blasé."_

Sam closed his eyes and squeezed his fists, trying to will Lucifer to leave, trying to will himself back into a state of sanity and rational. He had to have been out here for at least half an hour by now, Dean would be looking for him, and what would it look like when he found Sam out here going crazy?

 _"He already knows you're crazy. Might as well load him up on all the issues you have. You're both as worthless as each other, always willing to force your problems on each other, until one of you...snaps."_ Lucifer snapped his fingers and caused Sam to jump. _"Sorry, Sammy, didn't mean to startle you there."_

"Just leave me alone."

_"Uh...um...no. It's fun to see you this drooping, whiny version. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."_

Sam's hands rose to his head and he covered his ears, not that it did anything. Lucifer's voice was louder than ever before.

_"Boy, you really are stupid, aren't you? I'm in here!"_

His hands lowered and passed over his pockets, where he heard the familiar sound of keys jingling. He hadn't remembered taking the Impala keys from Dean, but when he pulled the metal from his pocket, that's what was there.

_"Don't I always provide for you, Sam?"_

Sam toyed the keys in his hand and trailed his eyes over to the room where Dean and he were staying. Dean hadn't come out yet, obviously this problem with the poltergeist wasn't as important as Sam thought. Then again, it wasn't like Sam knew anything about the problem -

_"You've been too busy bunking with me!"_

\- it wasn't like Sam even needed to be there at all. Dean had coped perfectly well with all the problems they had confronted since Sam was back – and obviously before, actually, he seemed to have coped even better before. With Ben and Lisa, Dean finally got that normal life Sam had always wanted.

_"And you had to go and screw it all up on him, didn't you?"_

Even if he was an illusion, even if Lucifer was nothing more than a leftover fragment of Sam's imagination, there was some truth in what he said. Sam swallowed, hard. One thing he couldn't cope with was knowing that he had somehow screwed up his brother's one chance at a happy, normal life.

Ignoring everything, he walked over to the Impala and unlocked the doors. Sam didn't even know what he was going to do, but he did see Dean's silhouette as he drove off onto the highway.

...

When in the car, Sam spotted something on the dash. A piece of paper. Inconspicuous, but it looked out of place just sitting there.

"That, Sam, would be the address of the next place Dean planned to search. Of course, if you cared about helping your brother at all, you'd already know that." Lucifer had appeared again, riding shotgun in the car as Sam swerved through the traffic. Too fast, but it didn't matter.

Sam snatched at the paper and read over the address. He knew it, an office not far away from here.

"Why should I believe you."

"Don't." Lucifer shrugged. "But since you're so sure I'm just a piece of your mind, shouldn't that in veto make me a part of your memory?"

Sam could vaguely remember that he and Dean had been to that office a couple of days ago. During a brief moment of clarity, he could remember. So Lucifer had a point, and Sam was no longer in a clarified enough stage to consider otherwise. He repositioned the car and took off in the way he best remembered.

"You are planning to take this poltergeist out yourself?" Lucifer asked. "Tsk, tsk. Isn't that a risky move?"

Sam had been taking out poltergeists long before Lucifer made his way into the picture.

"True, true. I'll just keep my big mouth shut and watch how the pro does it, huh?"

Sound a good an idea as any. Sam sped through the night, ignoring the phone that continued to call in both his pocket and the dash, even when Lucifer waggled it in front of his face. _Not real, not real, not real_. He just repeated that to himself over and over, ignoring Lucifer's insistence that he was wrong, that this whole reality was not real – that Lucifer was the only truthful being in this whole, false universe.

He stopped the car when the building he past registered something in his mind.

"Bones are out back," Lucifer said, following Sam from the car, "At least, that's what I - oh, wait, _you_ – overhead Big Brother saying."

Sam ignored him and went to the door. Of course it was locked, but then Lucifer's hand reached over the handle and the door flew open.

"I'm the leader of Hell, Sammy, and I'm the owner of this world. Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?"

Sam shivered and walked inside. When the door closed behind them, everything started to change. What should have been an office building now appeared a huge, endless warehouse. Of course he had been screwed over. Lucifer, he wasn't going anywhere. Sam pulled out his gun, and shot.

The presence of Lucifer disappeared, and it was replaced with a deep, booming laughter inside of Sam's own mind.

_"Think you can get rid of me that easily?"_

"Shut up." Sam held the gun in front of him, swinging his body around the building and waiting to see Lucifer reappear. He didn't even know why he was bothering to try and kill an imaginative figment, but he couldn't bring himself to put the gun away. "You're not real!"

Lucifer reappeared, Sam shot, and nothing happened.

"Want to point that gun at someone useful? Try your face?" He stepped closer, and Sam kept the gun pointed right between the devil's eyes. "Want to know the truth? Want to skip to the last page of the book?"

The gun felt heavy in Sam's hand, he felt it dropping. He also felt his own guard, his own strength, fading away and his mind focusing on Lucifer's suggestion. No...

"You know where to aim." Lucifer moved his fingers into the creation of a gun, and pressed the tip of his index finger against Sam's chin. His voice was like a breath of ice, "Cowboy."

"No." Sam shook his head, but his voice was weak and he couldn't lift his gun. "You're not real."

"Oh, really? How about I show you someone who _is_ real, then?"

He clicked his fingers, and before Sam's very eyes, he watched the devil's features morph into those of his brother.

"You prefer this, Sammy? Can I use the nickname, now?"

Sam couldn't stop staring at how closely resembled Lucifer looked to his brother. Now...now how could he know that anything was real? Or fake? A creation of his mind or a slice of reality?

"You don't know, Sammy, you just have to trust me. Me, the only one who actually tries his best to tell you the truth."

"Sam?"

In a reflexive action, the gun rose in front of Sam once more, this time pointed at another image of Dean.

"Woah, woah!" Dean yelled, raising hands in front of himself.

Sam turned to Lucifer. "How do I know he's real?" he yelled.

Lucifer shrugged. "You don't."

"I'm guessing Lucifer's joined us for dinner?"

Sam looked over at the newly arrived Dean, chest heaving as he tried to take this all in. It was too coincidental, _way_ too coincidental, for Dean to walk in just at this moment. He kept staring at who he thoughts was his brother, weapon slowly lowering once more.

"Look at me. Come on. You don't know what's real?" Dean took a small step forward. "Look man, I've been to Hell, okay? I know a thing or two about torture. Enough to know that it feels different than the pain of this." He threw his arms up. "This regular, stupid, crappy _this_."

Sam shook his head, he couldn't let his guard down and give into this. Not with all the crap Lucifer had been throwing out recently. "How can I know that for sure?"

"Let me see your hand."

Sam held out the hand without the gun.

Dean shook his head. "Trust me just a bit, show me your other hand."

Sam moved his eyes over to the other Dean, the one that he was almost now entirely sure belonged to Lucifer. He continued to stare at him as he felt Dean encircle his hand around the barrel of the gun. Sam raised his other hand for what was likely his brother.

Dean pressed against the bandage covering it. "This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, _now_. I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up. Look!"

Sam looked down at his hand, watching as his brother squeezed the reddening white and flinched back at the pain he was inflicting. He felt Lucifer's presence weaken.

"This is different. Right? Then the crap that's tearing at your walnut? I'm different. Right?"

Sam pulled his hand away from the pain, leaving his gun now resting in his brother's grasp. "Yeah, you're different."

He saw a smile of relief flicker over Dean's face and then his eyes travelled past to what had now morphed back into its original face of Lucifer. Or at least the new vessel that held him. Sam pressed his hand against the cut, and Lucifer faded in and out again.

"Doesn't mean anything," Lucifer said.

"Hey. I am your flesh and blood brother, okay? I'm the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real time. You got away, Sammy." Dean's voice was borderline begging, but Sam ignored him. Right now, all that mattered was losing Lucifer.

Sam pressed the wound harder.

"Sammy," Lucifer tried, "I'm the only one who can..."

Harder, and then he was gone. Everything, from his image to his presence. Even his voice in Sam's mind had disappeared. He felt weak, but Dean came over and wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"I got you," he said, steading Sam.

Sam swallowed in deep gulps of air and pressing his eyes shut against all that had happened. He didn't even understand it, everything having happened so quickly. Was he really prepared to go through with what Lucifer wanted?

He felt Dean squeeze his shoulder, and pulled him from such thoughts. "We'll be okay. Just believe in me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it. You understand?"

Sam nodded at his brother's words, trying to convince himself of the truth in them, to try and build himself up based on what he knew to be true. He needed to stay grounded, in this reality, with this Dean. He looked into his brother's eyes and knew, really knew, that he was the _true_ Dean, the one who had saved him from a burning all those years ago; the one who had taught him about guns, and the one who protected him from birth until now and beyond.

"You ready to go?" This Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. With the visions of Lucifer now gone, he was shaky on his feet but moved away from Dean and walked on his own.

Even if Dean would always be there to protect, Sam also knew that he needed to take some responsibility for his own actions and to find some strength in himself. Whether or not Lucifer was real didn't matter, truth still came from his words.

Sam led with Dean following closely behind out the door, and once outside he saw that it wasn't the office he had originally presumed. How did he get there? Had Lucifer, somehow...

Oh, crap. That thought terrified Sam more than anything else ever had or could. The thought that he had been riding shotgun for the devil even now. That was a thought of incomprehensible terror.

"Sam, are you okay?"

Sam went to answer, he didn't remember what happened after that. Next thing he remembered was the sound of Dean's voice.

"Sam, stay with me! You hear?"

Sam heard another voice but couldn't make out the words as he tried to pull his eyelids open. When he finally succeeded, his eyes joined with those oh so recognisable ones of Lucifer.

A smile pulled out over the devil's lips and he shrugged. "Hey, so maybe I'm not real. Nobody's perfect. And I'm not going anywhere, Sam."

The edges of Sam's vision started to blur and he felt himself tumbling away from the world. For all he knew, this was Lucifer's way of pulling him back into the cage.

"Sam? Sammy?"

His name being called by his brother was the last thing Sam remembered before he was pulled away. At least he could go back to the cage with a good memory.


	2. Blood

They were in the hospital for two weeks. Sam with trauma to his brain, Dean with a broken leg. Based on the injuries, Sam should have been in longer and Dean in less, but that wasn't about to happen.

Sam needed to leave the day Lucifer returned.

"Hey, bunk buddy," Lucifer greeted, propping himself on the edge of Sam's hospital bed, "Didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?"

Sam ignored him and averted his eyes to the roof, making patterns out of nothing on the whitewash. He knew now that the devil wasn't real; it was just a matter of getting over his memories.

"Sure, I'm not real in the sense that I am an embodiment." Sam felt the bed spring back up and knew Lucifer was on his feet. The next time he spoke, his voice was right by Sam's ear. Again, no breath could be felt. "I am, however, a part of your mind. You're my Pinocchio, and I can play the puppeteer as long as I want to."

Sam refused to turn his head to look at the figment of his imagination. That was the only way to get rid of it, wasn't it? To stop believing and thus stop it from occurring.

"But you don't _really_ believe that, do you, Sammy?"

Sam wouldn't even let his thoughts stray to an answer for that question. He just pressed his thumb against the cut on his hand and felt Lucifer flicker and leave. He didn't know how long he could keep that up, but for now, it worked.

"How you going?"

Sam recognised that voice as belonging to someone other than Lucifer and turned to see his brother practically limping through the door. He smiled.

"Still not getting those crutches?"

"Threw them out," Dean said, voice gruff and strained. He shuffled his way through the door and hobbled to the chair by his brother's bedside. "So how are you?"

Sam shrugged. "Can't complain." He chose to leave Lucifer out of this, Dean didn't need to know all the details and worry about Sam.

"Good." Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "Looked at your files, looks like they want you out tomorrow – sure we could push that to today...if you want?"

That wasn't a difficult question for Sam to answer. "I'd like to go right now if I could."

As if on cue, the doctor who had been treating Sam for the past fortnight walked into the room, chart in hand and stethoscope hanging around his neck.

"How are you feeling today, Sam?" He asked, a bright smile on his face.

Why were doctors always so cheery? The only positive Sam could see was that at least it didn't look like he would be receiving any diagnosis of terminal illness or soon death. The last time a doctor had come near him with such news was when Dean was in the hospital with the heart attack. That moment had also doubled as one of the worst in Sam's life.

_"Aww, poor Sammy."_

"Fine," Sam answered the doctor while simultaneously pressing against the cut in his hand.

The doctor pointed his pen toward the wound. "We noticed that. The stitching is coming loose and it doesn't appear to be healing, what happened?"

Sam just shook his head. "Nothing, it was just some broken glass."

"You up to date with your shots?" He asked.

Sam actually couldn't remember, but he knew that he would risk infection if it meant keeping visions of Lucifer at bay. Right now the only thing stopping his mind from crumbling was that very injury. And maybe Dean. Lucifer seemed to make less appearances when Sam's brother was close by.

"Shouldn't that be in your folder there, doc?" Dean piped up.

The doctor smiled down at him. "I guess so." He then turned his attention back to Sam. "Well, we cleaned and bandaged that, hopefully an infection won't set in and, apart from a concussion which isn't too serious, your head is good to go."

Sam smiled in relief. "So that means I can go?"

"I would prefer to have you in for another night – or _two_ – for observation, but your brother proved very incessant that you need to leave as soon as possible." The doctor closed over his file. "So I'll have a nurse in soon to give you a last look over and bring in your discharge papers."

"Great, thanks."

The doctor gave a curt nod before leaving just Sam and Dean in the room again. Lucifer was still gone, and for that Sam was beyond grateful. And exhausted. Maybe it would have been preferable for him to spend another night here, just to gain that restful sleep he had been searching for all year.

_"Not so quick, Sammy."_

He didn't react to the voice but internally. Feeling a pain deep into his core. He could never escape this, no matter what. At least Lucifer wasn't showing his face. Sam held onto the bandage until the voice was gone.

"He back?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer, just trained his eyes onto his brother. He knew Dean could come to an answer without words if he really wanted to.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, okay." He pat Sam's shoulder again, hand lingering as the other rubbed over his chin in contemplation. "Maybe we should..."

"Take me to the loony bin?" Sam shook his head. "No way, Dean – I'll figure it out some other way."

Dean ran his hand over his face. "You've been trying that for the past year now, is it working at all?"

Again, Sam didn't answer, but the movement of his eyes from his brother to the roof spoke louder than words ever could. Sam was screwed, plain and simple. The only thing keeping him holding on was resting underneath his thumb, and it was far from a long term solution.

"I'm not gonna give up on you," Dean pressed, "I remember what it's like to be in Hell. A complete mind screw, man, I know that."

"Yeah, I don't want to talk about it," Sam replied curtly.

Dean pressed his hands into Sam's bed. "What? I happen to remember when I returned to Hell that you _made_ me hurl my guts about the details. So now you refuse to do the same for me?"

Sam turned whiplash quick to stare at his brother. "What _you_ faced in Hell, Dean? I was in the _cage_. I was Lucifer's _bitch_. You were nothing but a pawn – I was the whole chessboard for Lucifer to do what he wanted!"

Dean opened his mouth but, before he could reply, the door swung open and a nurse walked in.

"Sorry," she said to Dean, smile on her face as cheery as the doctor's, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Sam watched Dean's eyes switch from him, to the nurse, and back to him again before he soundlessly left the room.

_"Smooth, Sammy."_

Of course Lucifer would be back with the disappearance of Dean's back out the door. Sam just focused his attention on the nurse. She was pretty, dark hair up in a bun with two strands hanging loose to frame her face and big, green eyes.

_"Ooh, Sammy has a crush?"_

Great. Lucifer was even there when he found a woman attractive. Sam looked away from her. Lucifer could focus his attention on a plain wall if he was so unrelenting on eavesdropping on Sam's every thought.

"Dr. Kane says you're ready to go," she said, "Your test results have all come back fine, but be cautious of any dizziness or nausea you may feel."

"Will do," Sam said. He kept his eyes away from her, and didn't voice that the chances of him coming back here – no matter what – were slim at best. Besides, Dean wasn't a fan of hospitals and Sam didn't think he could convince his brother to pay another visit in such quick succession.

"I'll just take your blood pressure."

He felt fingers on his bare arm and fabric pass over his bicep. Now he couldn't keep the thumb on the cut. Sam felt the presence of Lucifer before he saw him, fingers waggling in his face and a grin of evil upon his lips.

"Miss me?"

Sam grit his teeth and pretended to see through Lucifer. It didn't stop the devil, of course, but it did make Sam feel that little bit better before he was able to move his hand back and watch Lucifer flicker into oblivion.

"Is that causing you pain?" The nurse asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing I can't handle." Sure, it was painful, but he was prepared to handle the physical pain if it stopped the mental.

"Blood pressure looks fine," she said, "Next I want to check your heart."

With his hand still on the bandage and keeping Lucifer at bay, Sam was able to turn and look at the nurse who still had that same sweet smile on her face. In a way, it reminded him of Jess, and that sent a lump to his throat.

_"It's been years, Sam. Move on, man, you're starting to turn into The Notebook."_

Sam had to press at the hand harder, each time it was getting more and more difficult to keep Lucifer away. He hoped the nurse didn't notice, but she didn't seem to as she pressed the stethoscope to his heart for a moment.

_"Careful there, Sammy."_

He pressed harder, and could feel warmth now. It had started to bleed again. That much pressure couldn't be good, this was becoming uncontrollable.

"Everything seems fine." Sam let himself look at her smile and forced one on his own face in return. "I'll let you get dressed and be back soon to give you your discharge papers, and then you'll be good to go, okay?"

He nodded and kept the plastered smile on his face until she left them room. Sam then released the pressure on his hand, the relief occurring in almost the same moment Lucifer stood before his very eyes.

"She was a looker, wasn't she?"

Sam said nothing but got up from the bed and started to pull on his clothes.

"Don't be shy in front of me, Sam, I've seen you inside out." Lucifer laughed.

He continued to ignore him, buttoning up his shirt and walking straight past the manifestation of his imagination. That's just what he would do from now on; completely ignore the existence of his mind and wait for himself to believe it.

Lucifer was right up at his ear. "You keep convincing yourself that's possible."

Sam left the hospital room with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, at least outside, with all the bustle of orderlies, doctors, nurses, and patients walking by, Lucifer could be drowned out just that bit more. So long as he didn't start talking to him, Sam could appear just as sane as anyone else once more.

"Sam, you've never _been_ sane."

Despite the truth in those words, Sam didn't allow them to affect him. The one thing he had learnt in Hell was that it fed on your own self-doubt, your own self-hatred. Stop the thoughts, you stop the torture. He felt it was a good enough theory to follow into the real world.

"Well done, grasshopper, you are learning well."

The nurse returned. "Just some basic information, sign here -" she pointed "- and here -" another jab with her finger. Sam signed both places, hardly bothering to read over the information. "Your brother is waiting for you just past the nurse's station."

Sam handed her back the clipboard and hurried off with Lucifer in tow.

"Still following Dean around? Tsk tsk, Sammy, I thought I taught you better than that."

Fed up with the sound in his ear, Sam dug his thumbnail into his palm and Lucifer was gone once more. For how long, Sam had no idea. The hallucinations had become more rampant during his time in the hospital, and Sam didn't know whether that was here to stay or just because of the setting.

At least he knew how to get a moment's peace; just cause pain.

Both Dean and Bobby were in the waiting room when Sam walked in. Dean now kept crutches by his side, but Sam had a sneaking suspicion this was Bobby's idea rather than something from his brother's own mind.

"How are you, Sam?" Bobby asked, pulling Sam down into a hug. It made his head spin, but he let Bobby hold him for a moment.

"I'm fine," he said when they broke apart. Again, there was no point dragging anyone into this. Besides, he knew Bobby was talking about the physical pain, and that _was_ fine. Nothing worse than the window jump several years earlier.

"Come on." Bobby handed Dean the crutches and Sam watched, suppressing a grin, as his brother manipulated the crutches under his arm and managed to move a few, painfully slow, steps.

Bobby tried to help him until Dean yanked away. "I can do it myself."

"Well hurry up with it, you idjit." Bobby walked faster, but Sam decided to trail behind with his brother.

"I'm ditching these things the second we get in the car," Dean said. In only a short walk down the corridor his breath was already becoming laboured.

"How long did the doctor say you needed them?" Sam asked.

"Few weeks."

Sam pushed the hospital door open and was struck with direct sunlight, not that filtered version he had faced for the last fourteen days. It was refreshing, even if Lucifer did flicker in front of his eyes for a momentary second.

"Sam, you coming?"

He disappeared with Dean's voice and Sam followed his brother to where Bobby was waiting for them.

"I guess you boys ain't gonna be of help with this poltergeist thing?" Bobby asked.

"It's still out there?" Dean demanded, "Two weeks, Bobby, who knows what it's done since then?"

Sam tried to remember just what the poltergeist had done, but was coming up blank. He knew Dean had been focused on finding this one poltergeist over the last few weeks. Sam wished he could remember why.

"Don't you start demanding things of me, boy," Bobby said, "Or I'll pull those crutches out from underneath you. Now get in the car."

Dean didn't say anything further and Sam helped him fit the crutches into Bobby's van. At least he hadn't brought the Impala along; that would be an exercise in aerobics.

"Where's my car?" Sam heard Dean say as he shut the door and joined Bobby in the front seat.

"It's back at the motel, where I'm taking you since you seem to think this poltergeist thing is so easy to finish up."

"I don't think Dean can -"

"I'm fine, Sammy."

Bobby started up the car and backed out of the parking lot, pulling onto the highway and toward the way Sam supposed the motel was. Bobby drove differently than Dean, a more cautious approach. Sam drove in a way almost identical to his brother; not surprising, since Dean had been the one to teach him how to drive.

"Have you made _any_ advances on the case?" Dean asked.

"I do have a life outside of you two," Bobby responded. He threw a look over his shoulder at Dean. "The poltergeist hasn't done any more damage, just scared a few townsfolk."

"Bobby, that's so unlike you to -"

He twisted his head back again. "Don't tell me what to think, boy."

Dean stayed quiet after that and Sam watched him in the rear view mirror as they continued to drive. He could tell his brother was in more pain than he let on; as Sam watched he heard Dean cringe as they went over any bumps or into pot-holes.

"What, Sam?"

"Nothing." But he didn't look away.

...

Bobby left them at the motel with only a gruff departing statement of, "I'll call you if something comes up." Seemed like he was still pissed at Dean, which was understandable.

As reluctant as he was to admit it, the motel didn't even look recognisable to Sam. Having Lucifer ride shotgun sure made memories a painful thing to hold on to. Thinking of Lucifer made him come back, and he followed the boys into their room.

"Just like I remember it," Dean muttered, "Covered in salt."

That was another thing Sam hadn't noticed, just how disorganised Dean could be. Salt was clumsily split at all the entrances and gun pieces sprawled across a bed.

"Dean, someone could have come in here," Sam said.

Dean shrugged. "And? Our names aren't here – so they find some weapons. Big deal, I've got the arsenal in the trunk." Dean sat on the bed and threw his crutches onto the ground. "I am _not_ using those again."

"Think we should hide them? Have a little fun?"

Sam stared straight past Lucifer and went to the fridge. Sam wrinkled his nose at the contents. Tupperware containers with leftover takeout and three six-packs of beer, two half empty. "You want a beer?"

"Yup."

Sam threw him one before Lucifer pushed the fridge closed.

"You really sure you want to drink, Sammy?" he asked, "Already losing controls, really want to tip over the edge?"

Sam popped the cap and threw it into the nearby bin. So he was starting to act like a defiant child by deliberately going against Lucifer. So what? Sam didn't always have to follow his mind – broken or otherwise. He made his way over to the bed that didn't resemble a gun store and sat, downing the beer in two gulps.

"Slow down there, _José," Dean warned._

Sam just looked at him for a moment before going back to the fridge for another beer. Lucifer wouldn't be the one to control Sam's thoughts and actions – it was _his_ choice, _his_ place of control. He downed the second beer as quickly as the first.

"You going to be Dean's bitch again?" Lucifer asked, circling Sam.

"Sam, you wanna talk about this?" Dean asked.

"Aw, how cute, some more chick flick moments." Lucifer reached out a hand to touch Sam, and it took all of Sam's strength not to swipe him away. "You going to paint nails and braid each other's hair?"

"About what?" Sam slammed his hand against the fridge and Lucifer was gone.

"Well, _that_ , for one."

Sam turned to his brother who had a deconstructed gun teetering on his lap. He paid it no attention as he kept his eyes on Dean.

"And what is 'that', Dean, exactly?"

_"Ooh, fisty!"_

Sam dug his hand into the corner of the refrigerator. Lucifer's voice shouldn't have returned so quickly. Was his hand healing? A look down at the bandage told Sam it was far from that, blood was pooling in his palm.

"The fact your hand is still bleeding," Dean said."

"Yeah, I hurt it – remember? Wounds bleed, Dean."

"Talk to me, man."

Dean placed the gun back onto the bed and stood, making his way across the stained and salt laden carpet and toward Sam. His arms were outstretched, non-threatening, but Sam still felt as though he was in the interrogation room and awaiting Dean's demands for him to spill his guts.

"There's nothing to talk about."

He wasn't yet ready to do that, his own mind was still a swirl of emotions and, until Lucifer was gone, that wouldn't change. Talking about it wouldn't change a thing.

"You come back from Hell and there's nothing to talk about?" Dean's brows furrowed in confusion. "Come on, you might be able to fool everyone else out there, but not me, not your brother."

"I'm not trying to fool you -"

"Then what do you call this, Sammy? Huh?" Dean was standing right in front of him now, his hand reaching out to lightly touch over Sam's bandage. "Now, talk to me."

Sam pulled his hand away and crossed the room. He would have been out the door if Dean wasn't blocking the escape route. Lucifer was caught in the corner of Sam's eye and, even when Sam pushed against his cut, nothing happened.

Lucifer didn't even flicker, but he did grin. A grin of pure evil, hatred seeping through his teeth and radiating from his eyes.

"He's here, isn't he?" Dean asked in demand. "Sam, he's not real."

"I know..." Sam swallowed, his voice not as solid as he wished it to be.

Lucifer sauntered up to Dean and put a hand on his shoulder. "You would have been a good vessel for my big brother." His eyes never left Sam's as he said this.

"Don't you touch him!" Sam's voice was like a volcanic eruption, all pent up anger exploding in four words aimed toward the devil.

Dean jolted away and ripped the gun from his waistband, swinging it around the room.

"You know you can't shoot him," Sam said. He hit his hand against a nightstand, hoping it would be hard enough to lose Lucifer. He did flicker, but stayed. Sam did it again. "Go away!" With a wave of his fingers, Lucifer was gone.

Sam knew it wasn't because of the pain.

"Sam - Jesus -"

Dean crossed the room and cupped Sam's hand in his own. Dark, almost black, blood had stained the bandage and was now flowing freely. The pain was a dull ache both at the site and in Sam's stomach, but he couldn't tell if it was physical or the accumulation of sleepless nights and Lucifer hallucinations.

_"See, Sam? You never escaped the cage."_

"You son of a bitch!" Sam's yell was broken and pierced his ears. Even Dean took a step back from the impact, but a second later he was right beside his brother again.

"Sam, he can't hurt you."

_"Not physically, no – I'll agree with big bro there."_

"Sam, look at me."

Sam raised his eyes, and the person standing there was _not_ Dean. He didn't know who it was, but that was not his brother. Had he even left the hospital? The cage? The motel room in the background was melting into a blur of television fuzz.

He raised a hand and threw a punch at the stranger, but was then stopped with the contact of skin on skin.

"Sam, it's _me_."

He pressed the wound on Sam's hand causing Sam to hiss in pain. The motel room flickered in and out of focus and the face in front of him was Dean's for a split second. The hand clenched harder, the pain becoming more unbearable and making Sam feel sick but he was back in the motel. The walls were white again, not the mottled green and red of Hell.

And Dean was Dean.

Almost as soon as his bearings were back in place, they started to spin and nausea rose in Sam's stomach and chest. He felt warm all over, and couldn't get enough air in.

"Sammy, sit down." Dean sounded like he was underwater as he guided Sam onto the bed.

Sam pressed his eyes into the hand that wasn't coated in blood and focused on his breathing. He was going crazy. Completely crazy. It didn't matter if his physical reality was as far from the cage as possible, somehow his mind had been trapped in the iron-cold grip of Lucifer. It didn't matter what he did, Lucifer was always there.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy." Even though Sam couldn't see him with his eyes covered, he could feel Dean. His voice nervous but reassuring as the bed dipped and cheap bedsprings groaned.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Sam asked, his voice thick. He was on the verge of giving up. On the verge of leaning over and putting together one of those guns before -

"When you were a kid, I promised Dad I'd always be there for you."

Sam peaked out the corner of his eye, expecting to see Lucifer as their third bed buddy but instead just seeing his brother with his green eyes staring straight ahead and body motionless.

"I have screwed up on that promise so many times."

"No, you haven -"

"Yeah, Sam, I have."

Sam looked over at Dean then. He lowered his hand and still there was no Lucifer. Not even in his mind waiting to call out words of insult or some sort of smart ass comment. Apart from Dean, it once again felt like he was the only person in the world. And the _real world_ at that.

"I let you go to _Hell_ , man, nothing more of a screw up than that." Dean cleared his throat. "But I've always tried to fix it, whenever I screw up I make sure I work to try and keep the promise I made to Dad."

"You do..." Sam didn't know what other words of encouragement he could offer. Dean had been there for him no matter what, through everything. "You gave up your _soul_ for me, Dean. You went to Hell _for me_."

"I wished I could have done it again."

Sam looked down as Dean once again held his bloodied and broken hand in his own.

"This – this shouldn't be the answer, but I don't know what other one there is," Dean said, "I want you to talk to me, but you won't."

"What will it do, Dean? I..." He trailed off, lost in a world of fear hopelessness.

"That's why I'm think I'm gonna break Dad's promise."

They lapsed into silence. More than anything, Sam was just waiting for Lucifer's voice to return or face to appear. A plan of what to do when that occurred was forming, and he didn't want to act it out. If for no more reason than Dean.

"Sam, you're gonna get through this."

His voice didn't sound confident at all. It was just deflated, choking on the real words he wanted to say. Words Sam figured would sound something like "You know what, Sam? You're on your own!" or "I give up." Sam wouldn't blame his brother if that's what he said.

He looked back at the place of his brother's eyes, faces less than an inch away from each other and Dean's thumb still pressing into Sam's hand. Dean raised his free hand and pressed it to Sam's face. "I'm gonna get you through this."

Sam could feel his breath – and it was _real_ breath, not the fake, icy breath of Lucifer – and the faint tinge of beer it held. It was comforting, along with just that presence of his brother sitting there. The only comfort either had received since early childhood. And that was what did it. He sprung from the bed.

"Sam -"

Sam shook his head and then stared down, watching the crimson of blood pool onto the carpet by his feet. The blood, it kept Lucifer away. The blood, it brought Dean closer.

"Sam, please -"

"Don't." Sam said.

He kept his eyes downcast but heard the wood beneath his feet creek as Dean must have taken a step forward, then faltered at Sam's word.

"Sam -" he repeated.

"Don't." Sam used his own repetition.

Sam heard the floorboards creek again, but this time the sound wasn't coming toward him. A moment later the door slammed, causing Sam to flinch.

_"Ouch."_


	3. Prisoner of Mind Or Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are POV switches between Sam and Dean in this chapter. I should also say this chapter includes some rather detailed depictions of mental torture. If anyone thinks it's enough to raise the rating, please don't hesitate to tell me so.

Dean didn't return in any short period of time. He stuck the keys into the ignition, revved the engine, and set out into the night.

He didn't return to that motel for eight days.

Dean tried to convince himself it wasn't due to what had happened back in the room. No, it was just this poltergeist deal that needed to be ended. Sam wasn't in any sort of stable mind to help. He looked down and saw the white cast set to his knee, but ignored the thought he also wasn't in the right state to do any good.

He could push through it, though. Physical pain? It was nothing for hunters. Dean received his first broken bone as a present for his twelfth birthday. Werewolf, if he remembered correctly. Dad had made a makeshift splint and pushed him to keep tracking. In the right mindset, Dean could forget about any sort of physical pain.

What he couldn't forget about was Sam.

Damned if he wouldn't try, though. Dean sped up, like the speed of the car would somehow speed him through his thoughts and memories of his brother. Of how, no matter how much Dean tried in his life, he was never able to protect Sam. Even going to Hell hadn't been enough, and he hated that.

He pressed the car even faster, far beyond the speed limit now, but the night was dark and empty, no headlights coming toward him or looming from behind. It was just a desolate stretch of highway in South Dakota.

Knowing where he was going didn't help. He _wanted_ to be searching for the specific place he needed, he _wanted_ to keep his mind busy focusing on co-ordinates and questions of who the poltergeist was, why he was doing this, and what Dean needed to do to stop him.

Instead, the cemetery on the next road called him.

He turned right and streetlights shone through the car's tinted window and illuminated the sign informing him of Sioux's Cemetery. He had to supress a sigh at how quickly he had arrived. No resolution in his mind had been found with the short drive, and everything just kept circling back to Sam.

 _Focus, Dean._ Even his internal thoughts couldn't control him and he considered turning back but, when the phone rang with Sam's name lighting up, he still ignored it.

He had some bones to fry.

...

_"This is Dean Winchester's cell, if you need..."_

"Jesus, Dean -!"

Sam hung up on Dean's recorded voice and threw his blackberry onto the neighbouring bed. He pressed his knuckles to his teeth and started pacing, eyes darting out the half-open window into the dark parking lot of the motel. No Impala parked outside – Dean had gone for the long haul.

"Miss me?"

He didn't even need to look to know who that was, but he did stop dead, staring straight ahead into the white wall of the room. Even if he didn't turn to look, he could feel – if not hear – Lucifer come closer.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Sam still refused to move, but he did lick over his lips and locate his voice. "What. Do. You. _Want?_ " He demanded.

"Do you want the truth? Or the truth?" Lucifer chuckled.

Sam didn't answer.

"Sammy, my vessel." Lucifer was right by Sam's ear now, ice breath freezing his skin. "I want to torment you. I want to torture you. I want to make you pay for screwing me over."

So there was the truth, and Sam shivered with it. He shivered with the cold and the dawning knowledge – and where it took his mind to. If Sam knew this was going to happen, if he knew he was going to come back and be trapped forever, he would have found a way to stay in the cage.

"Do you think you should have said no?"

Sam's breath caught with the question and he tried to swallow down the lump of ice that had risen in his throat. He couldn't think like that, not about the "what ifs" – he couldn't go back, it was worthless to have that thought pattern.

"Why? Dean isn't here anymore, what have you got left to lose?" Lucifer circled Sam's body to stand in front of him, their eyes meeting and Sam shrinking back. "Come on, Sammy, humour me. Tell me why I should let you live."

Sam closed his eyes and pressed the thumb into his open wound which was still bleeding freely. He knew he had lost a lot of blood already, and wondered how long it would be before it caught up with him. He felt sick, but Lucifer's presence was always capable of doing such a thing to him. Though when Lucifer flickered and left, the nausea still lingered.

As did Lucifer's voice.

_"You'll be here for a while yet, Sammy."_

That was what he was afraid of. At least by passing out Lucifer would no longer be there. Then again those dreams...the dreams of hanging on meat hooks, of watching skin melt, of tasting blood as it dripped from your eyes and into your mouth.

There was no escape.

_"I'm glad you said yes, Sammy, it makes everything here oh so much more interesting."_

"What if I'd said no?" He couldn't tell if he said it or only thought the words.

Lucifer still heard. _"That was never an option. I always knew you'd say yes."_

"All the angels thought my brother would say yes."

Lucifer reappeared at Sam's words, reaching out hands to place on Sam's shoulder. Frozen, Sam could do nothing but take in the devil's presence, hoping he'd just kill him. Wanting to end everything, because it didn't look like he would get out of here alive, anyway.

"Those angels, they're from Heaven. They see and hear only what benefits them the most. It didn't matter if Dean said yes or no. We had Adam."

"Then couldn't Adam have replaced _me_?" The question had been on the tip of his tongue since the showdown in Detroit, the last thing he remembered as himself before seeing the army man.

Lucifer leaned in close. "No way. I wouldn't have taken anyone but you, Sam, not for the big show down. Do you think I could ever choose second best?" He let go of Sam's shoulders but stepped in close. "My father, he planned this all out from the start. In millions – _billions_ – of years, we already knew this would come about. Even before I fell."

Sam creased his eyebrows. What?

"Oh yes, my father knew I would fall. Just like your father knew you would run away one day. Even our personalities are alike. Do you believe in reincarnation, Sam?"

Sam couldn't answer. He reached out to steady himself on a nearby bench, nausea and dizziness sweeping over him. Having Lucifer so close, it was ruining his physical state as much as his mental. He tried to press his hand into the corner of the bench, but nothing happened. The devil didn't even flicker.

"I don't either, sort of goes against my religious upbringing." He chuckled. "Still, it does make me wonder. About meaning, about birth, about free will. My father always made out it was a real thing, but after this, how could anyone believe it?"

Sam hardly heard the last of those words. He gripped onto the sink so hard his knuckles turned white as the room around him spun and he knew he wouldn't be on his feet much longer. True to that thought, he felt his body sway.

Last thing he remembered was Lucifer standing over him, mouthing the words "Nighty night."

...

The flames could be seen from the highway, but Dean wasn't too concerned. All night time security guards yelled before shooting – he could outrun on of them any day of the week. Even with that knowledge in mind, it was never needed. Nobody came to see the desecration of human remains, or to thank him from stopping the poltergeist haunting their town. Just another job, and there wasn't even Sam to have a celebratory beer with.

After covering the grave over with dirt, Dean made his way back to his car. Loose plans of where to go next had formed in his mind. It would be just like the good old days, when Sam was in college and Dad was on his own hunting trip. Travelling with his car, weapons, and the clothes on his back. Hustling pool, poker, and darts for money and hunting just because it felt like the right thing to do. No angels, no Lucifer, no God. Just him and the USA.

He shut the car door.

...

When Sam woke, it was in disorientation. He couldn't tell if he was in a dream or reality, but once he tried to sit up and felt his arms and legs being pulled down, he knew just where he was.

"Good morning, Sunshine."

The rest of the world slowly came into focus for Sam as he continued to pull and thrash at the binds on his wrists and ankles but, when he looked down, nothing was there. No chains, no straps, it was just him on a plain, white table. Sam looked around to where Lucifer sat perched on a bench less than a foot away.

"What is this?" Sam demanded.

Lucifer shrugged and Sam's eyes darted around the rest of the room. It was just a box of nothing, everything in it pure white and stretching out further than Sam could possibly see.

"Optical illusion," Lucifer said.

Sam watched as he pulled a knife from his pocket and flinched back, fighting harder to free himself from the invisible bonds than held him still.

"Oh, this?" Lucifer twisted the blade on the tip of his finger and Sam could see a single drop of blood fall to the ground. Against the snow coloured ground, it stood out in the extreme. "I'm not planning to harm you – well, not _physically_ , anyway. No, I just wanted to show you. This body, I can't feel pain. Something you would understand, wouldn't you, Sam?"

Sam clenched his fists and pulled with his wrists.

"Don't bother," Lucifer told him, "Like I said, we're living in an optical illusion, Sam, trapped in your mind. Now -"

Sam didn't even blink before Lucifer was at his side and, in every less time, had stabbed the knife down beside his head. Sam jumped and flinched backward, but the binds on his wrists and legs didn't let him move more than an inch. He was now aware something was holding down his chest and thighs. Completely trapped.

"Don't bother trying to move, Sammy. You'll be still until I let you be otherwise." Lucifer took the knife from the table and, just like the last time, was sitting on the bench again so quickly Sam didn't even see him move.

He trailed his eyes around the room again trying to spot something out of the ordinary, something he could use to escape or see a way out.

"This is your mind, Sam, shouldn't you know by now there's no escape?"

He didn't believe the words. This was just some other way for the angels or demons to screw with him. Everyone in the world was still out to get him, Sam knew that; saying yes to the devil received hatred from both sides.

"Oh, you really think anyone up there still cares? They're gone, Sam. The angels lost their warrior, they're probably still pissed at me, and they're hiding up in Heaven still searching for their father."

Sam stared at him. "Do you know where he is?"

Lucifer just smiled, showing the beginnings of teeth. "It doesn't matter."

And it really didn't. Not at this point of time, not to Sam. He was still working at his wrists, trying to escape from the bonds he couldn't understand. Nails dug into his palm, but he didn't even bother to do so for the reason of removing Lucifer. He had stopped caring Lucifer was there. He just wanted to be free.

"I think you should save your strength, Sammy, we might be here awhile."

He didn't listen to Lucifer's warning and just tugged harder. "What do you want?"

"I think you already know."

...

It was just like the good old days – hunting alone, just him and his car. Well, the term good could be subjective depending on his emotions of the day. He did worry about Sam, about what the kid was going through with friggin' _Hallucifer_ riding shotgun with his mind.

More than that, Dean was pissed with himself. Pissed because he shouldn't have left Sam in such a state, even if it _was_ Sam who sent him away. His brother wasn't in his right mind, having to put up with the devil whispering things into his ear. Dean should have grit his teeth and held on.

Instead, he was passing the state line into Montana. Someone had informed him of strange occurrences in a local school and, deciding to keep his mind off what was happening further east, he was on his way to investigate.

Not much pointed toward it being anything except a usual case of sociopathic school kids. Okay, probably not so normal, but Dean could still remember his own school experience and just how crazy some of the kids had been. Plus, didn't every murderer start off as a child?

Still, he owed it to his upbringing to at least give it the once over. Pretend to be from the Education Department and threaten to shut down the school if the principal started to question him. Despite what he might have said in the past, people, they could be predictable. Just took a bit of reading.

Pity Sam wasn't there to do that for him.

...

"What?" Sam's eyebrows crushed together in confusion.

"Oh, Sam." Lucifer smiled at him, laughter in his voice. "You believe I'm a figment of your imagination, don't you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Then you should know the reason why everything is happening."

"Then you're here for no reason," Sam growled, straining harder against the non-existent restraints, "It's all fake."

"Bingo."

Lucifer walked back to Sam once more, this time allowing footfalls and a speed which any human could match, yet he was soundless and seemed to almost float above the white flooring. He leant down over Sam.

"But then why have you kept me inside? Why can't you just make me disappear?" Lucifer's hand travelled down the table until it gripped Sam's, digging his nails into the wound. "Why doesn't this make me go away anymore?"

Sam ripped his hand from the devil's grip, hissing through his teeth with the pain that bestowed his wrist.

"And why does that hurt?"

"Because you've _trapped me_." Sam responded, the pain in his wrist now throbbing. The bonds must have been made of metal, even if they made no sound and left no mark.

"Look around, Sam, there's nothing holding you down. No rope, no bonds, no leather, no cuffs. Nothing kinky here, Sammy, just your own mind at work." He laughed in a way that was more like a scoff. "Such a dull mind you have, though. Only thing interesting in here is me. Guess that's why you let me stick around so long."

Sam's eyes darted away from him. "Why don't you just kill me."

"Don't you _get_ it, Sammy?" Lucifer's voice was right by Sam's ear, hissing the words right into his body, "You were right. I'm _not real_. All of this is you. Only you can end it."

Sam looked down as cold metal was felt against his palm. The knife Lucifer had been holding only a few moments ago. Sam looked back at the devil as he made a fist around the weapon.

"What are you doing?"

"Shouldn't that be what are _you_ doing?" He took steps backward until he was leaning against that bench. "Choice is yours, Sammy, it always was."

...

So the demon in the _school_ had been a bust, but the same city did have its share of supernatural activity. One option had been for Dean to leave and blow them off as nothing once more, but Dean wasn't prepared to return. Not yet.

After meeting up with Officer Benson, Dean found his way back into a Blue's Brother costume with the intent of investigating every house in Owen Street where, in the last week, ten people had been killed.

He was surprised they didn't put barriers up around the whole street.

"Have you got any leads?" He'd questioned Benson in a bar the same evening.

He'd taken her here with a proposition boarding between a date and an interest in finding out more information on the case. It wasn't his fault women were usually more easy talkers when someone was whispering things in their ear.

"To be honest with you, agent, we've hit a dead end. We've spoken with everyone on the street; nobody seems to take the place of suspect. They're all just as afraid as each other," Benson had replied.

Dean couldn't let anything slip. "Are you sure they haven't just managed to mimic feelings of grief? Hiding the fact they are really responsible."

Benson shrugged. "It's possible, sure – we're a small police force, unlike the FBI we don't have behavioural analysts." She looked up with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, not trying to be ungrateful for what the agency provides for us."

Dean dismissed her with a shake of the head. "None taken." He leaned in closer to her, blocking out the sounds of music from the DJ and of people talking, "Is there anything particularly unusual about these crimes?"

She took a sip of her drink. "Unusual like what?"

"Ahh, like black smoke or people acting differently."

She seemed to move back at his words, twisting her straw around her fingers and keeping eyes firmly planted on him. Yeah, she probably thought him insane.

"No, no...nothing like that," she finally replied. Her eyes then moved around the room. Dean could tell she'd start running if he didn't do something.

"I know it sounds really, really weird," Dean confessed, "But, uh, similar sightings were found in other towns across the state."

Dean really needed Sam here to come up with better excuses, because he was just clutching at straws and finding out nothing.

"We spoke to all the cities in a hundred mile radius; nobody has faced any rise in deaths."

 _Oh, crap_. She was moving back further now, looking poised and ready to stand. Dean followed her eyes to an exit sign. Why did he have to try something without Sam's analytical thought? In the past, maybe Dean could have done it on his own. Recently, he'd just depended too much on his brother.

"Well, no, we meant further out..." Yeah, he wasn't fooling anyone.

"Who _are_ you?" She was standing now, body turning away from him.

"Look," he said, standing as well, "I'm here to try and help your town. That's all that really matters."

That wasn't telling her the truth was it? It also wasn't a lie. A perfect medium, maybe he could do this gig without Sammy after all.

"I'm a police officer. If you're lying about who you are..."

"I'm not, I'm not!" He raised his hands, palm up, in an attempt at submission. Stumbling for words for a minute – because this was _not_ going to plan – he finally decided on, with a low voice, "If you must know, I'm here on some pretty specific business."

He gestured for her to come closer. For a split second she looked like she was about to run for that exit and alert every police officer in the district of his presence, but she soon gave what looked like a sigh and sat down.

"The FBI, they're looking into some...ritualistic...killings. Cults, black magic, voodoo." Also not a lie. Dean was pretty sure this was the work of a spirit or demon, but a particularly vengeful witch could also be the culprit.

"Black smoke is part of that? Isn't it all just...bull?"

She seemed to be listening now and not ready to flee. Dean was able to relax.

"It's plausible to make, a big bonfire or something similar." Most of the houses around here looked like they possessed tiny backyards, but he hoped that fact would slide. "What we're really focusing on is if these deaths can be considered part of the investigation. So if there's anything that's been left out of the newspapers...?"

She bit down on her lip. "Well, Agent Scott, people had reported strange noises around the time of the killings and for several days beforehand."

Now he was getting somewhere. "Noises, huh? Like what?"

...

No noise, no sight except those forever white walls and his own body. Even Lucifer was gone.

Oh.

Then there was the knife, but Sam refused to look at that.

...

Turns out it was witchcraft. One of the bigger covens he'd seen in a while, one of the more powerful ones, too. But, he managed to handle them.

And no, he wasn't about to include the part where they had him tied to a chair and began chanting streams of death about him. Or where one of the women linked him to Michael. No, they were events worthy pushing into the back of his mind and never bringing out again.

Back in the car, and he didn't know what to do.

Part of him, a very prominent part of him, wanted to head back to South Dakota and see how his brother was doing. He wished that part also coincided with his pride and bravery – yet it didn't. He was coward. Maybe not when it came to hunting spirits or demons or wendigos or rougarous, but when it came to people? He knew he was the kind to run.

Dean turned the keys and started the car but, almost as soon as this had occurred, shut the engine off again.

He had no idea what to do.

...

The blade was between his fingers. Squeezing cut through flesh but there was no pain, just the sticky wet feeling of blood. When he lifted his wrist, it moved. His arms were now free, though his body and legs still stayed held down.

_"Want to be free, Sam? You know what to do."_

...

Dean still hadn't made up his mind when his phone began to ring a few minutes later. Thinking it to be Sam, he pounced without checking the caller ID.

"Dean." That definitely was not Sam's voice, but it did sound urgent.

"Bobby? What is it?"

"Your brother seems to have gone off the deep end, room service found him almost unconscious, shouting some Lucifer crap. Took him in."

"What do you mean 'took him in'?" Dean pressed the phone closer to his ear, wishing Bobby would hurry up with his explanation.

"Psychiatric unit here in Sioux Falls."

Phone still to ear, Dean started the car and sped back east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope nobody minded the fact I threw a case in here...to me it felt as though, without Sam, Dean would just go back to his roots. As his way of coping.


	4. When You Were Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are POV switches between Sam and Dean in this chapter.

Dean stopped his car outside of the hospital, though _stopped_ only became an adequate description after he had pushed the door open and jumped from his seat. For once in his life, the car wasn't the forefront of his mind as he sprinted up the laneway to the white brick hospital. What he hadn't thought of, however, was a rouse. No way would they let him see Sam in the state Bobby seemed to have described him in and, more than that, they hadn't even booked in under their own names. Nothing more than two friends – Dean Plant and Sam Jones. Crap. Dean slowed down to a jog, back to a walk and, finally, he stopped dead just before the white doors.

What was he doing? For the first time since this Hell on Earth started, Dean's thoughts stopped their tailspin to nothing and focused on the brother who was somewhere behind these doors. A brother who had witnessed the same horrors Dean had down under, only they had to have been worse. Much worse. Dean had been placed down there for a deal, just a deal. No personal vendetta survived, at least not one anywhere close to what Sam would have faced. Sam; the devil's vessel. He would have been tortured on the rack until nothing was left, and for _months_ longer than Dean had experienced.

In almost a daze he wandered to a bench nearby and sat heavily. Sam was in there because of him! He could have yelled out with the frustration of it all. Sam should never have gone to Hell and he certainly never should have been left alone when Dean decided to run from his problems. Maybe Sam was just too dependent on him, and that did play a toll of fear on Dean; their father should never have made this a possibility. If they weren't each other's weakness, none of this would have happened! Sam would be some big-shot lawyer and married – Dean swallowed hard at the thought – and maybe Dean could have made a life for himself. Instead, John had _forced_ them to become co-dependant.

Now Sam was trapped in a loony bin and Dean was trapped out here, a prisoner to his own mind. It should never have been this way. Never.

But, alas it was. Dean continued to sit on that bench, his head in his hands for who knows how long. Usually he could have thought up something, some escape plan to free his brother, but today he couldn't. What feared him more than that inability to conceive a thought pattern was a gnawing thought at the back of his mind. A thought that was fast approaching a scream, and its words were simple. _You don't want to save him_.

Dean couldn't let that thought be true. If he had to grasp on to one thing, it was definitely the salvation for his brother. Sam had already beaten the loss of his girlfriend, the loss of their father, his demon blood addition – everything! It wasn't fair that a _hallucination_ could be the thing to make him crash and burn. It just wasn't!

...

Sam wasn't sure of where he was anymore. From the white room he had a snippet of lucidity where he was back in the motel, but his body had remained as paralysed as it was now. He had heard voices, but couldn't place words to the sounds. The only words he was truly able to make out were the ones coming from Lucifer. Sam kept his eyes definitely snapped closed and refused to register the words, but some still made it through the veil.

"We're in for one hell of an end of the world party here, Sammy." Lucifer gave a hearty laugh. "Hope you prepared all the trimmings."

Sam didn't _want_ to know what he was talking about.

"Think your brother will join us? That _would_ be fun." Sam felt Lucifer's presence right by his face. "Wouldn't that make a big buck porno?"

Sam set his jaw against the words. _He isn't real, he isn't real_. Sam just had to hold onto that knowledge, not that it was easy with Lucifer reading his thoughts and offering rebuttals each time he repeated the mantra over and over to himself.

"What _is_ real, anyway?" Lucifer mused, "Different religions may believe me real – or fake – and you _know_ I'm real in at least some way, Sam. How about all that you hunt – or, at least, _used_ to – most people believe it's fake." He gave a laugh. It seemed that the longer Sam was trapped here, the more fun Lucifer was having. "I doubt it really matters how _real_ or _fake_ I am, Sammy. You're still here with me, and that's all that _really_ matters."

He hated how right Lucifer sounded. In that soliloquy, it had rendered Sam without any hope. It was as if the devil had shoved his hand into Sam's soul and ripped it out, now toying with all it stood for in the palm of his hand and waiting for the rest of the man to crumble.

Sam opened his eye a crack. "Do it."

"Do what, Sammy?" Lucifer asked with a coy smile on his face.

"You know what." His voice came out like a growl.

Lucifer's smile widened. "Well, at least you're understanding the mind-reading thing now – about time you caught on!" He came closer, tracing a finger across Sam's chest. It burnt cold and Sam writhed against the touch. "You sure you want this, Sam? I don't know how happy Dean will be to know of it."

Sam's eyes flew shut again and his teeth ground together. He had been trying hard to leave Dean _out_ of this – all of this. The reason he was here...well, wherever _here_ is...was for no other reason than Dean learning the truth. If he'd just pushed the hallucinations down and ignored Lucifer like his intentions in the first place, Dean wouldn't be AWOL and Sam wouldn't be trapped in his mind. There was no other way out.

"Do it," he repeated to Lucifer.

"But then where's _my_ fun?"

"Do it!"

...

Dean had come to the decision he couldn't continue to sit here and dwell about feeling sorry for himself – Sam deserved better. With this in mine he had returned to the motel and found an old ID Sam had used to enter a psychiatric unit once before. A change of the photograph and he was back at the white building once more. This time, at least, there was a loosely formed plan in his mind. Admittedly, this plan was nothing more than "get in, find Sam, get Sam out" and needed much more articulating to actually pull off – but Dean never admitted to being an articulate person.

He flashed his card to the woman at reception. For once he didn't even pay attention to the fact her top button was undone, or how she shot him a smile with perfect white teeth. "I'm here to see Sam Jones, he was admitted late yesterday."

"Sure." Another shot of a smile, this time he vaguely noticed, and she started to type on her computer. "Ah yes – he's in room 201." He must have showed his confusion or anxiety, because she continued, "Just continue on down this hall, take a right and continue walking right to the end. You should see it then." A third smile, which Dean this time returned, and then he went off in the direction she pointed out.

When he was out of her sight his pace picked up. Bobby hadn't filled him in on any more details of Sam's condition, but his tone on the phone kept Dean's anxiety levels on high alert. After all, if he was anything like he had been when Dean last saw him, the situation wouldn't be a good one. He was almost at a run, now.

...

Sam opened his eyes again. He must have been out, though he didn't remember falling. Looking around the room, that forever white room, he realised that something – or, rather, some _one_ – was missing. Lucifer. On any other day, this would have been a blessing – but not this day. Not when Sam was in this room. Sam sat up before the realisation struck him that he was _sitting up_. He moved a leg, the other leg, and swung them from the bed. He pushed off with his feet and he was _standing_. Freedom. The longer he stood, the more the white on the walls surrounding him seemed to almost melt, flowing toward the floor and being replaced with colours – the brown of wood, the blue of a sky through the window, sunlight flowing through it. Finally, he was free again.

Then Sam woke up. Lucifer sat there, grinning at him.

...

Dean didn't even hesitate at the door of room 201. His hand pressed to the silver handle and he pushed down, not even preparing himself for whatever sight may behold him on the other side. He just knew he needed to see and help his brother, no matter what.

At first, it wasn't as bad as he had expected. Sam was simply lying on a small, twin bed made up of white sheets to match the colour of the room. As Dean moved closer he became more aware of the details surrounding his brother. First, that Sam was sleeping – but it wasn't a peaceful sleep; Sam's eyes were pressed shut and he hands were clenched into fists that pressed into his sheets, turning his knuckles a colour to match them. Momentarily they would unclench, his leg would kick, or his mouth would pull. Sam looked far from peaceful. Dean pulled a chair across the room and placed it by the side of his brother's bed, sitting. Without a plan, he now had no idea what to do.

"Hey, Sammy." His voice hardly carried to the bed and it shook something shocking. Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "It's me – Bobby called, told me where you were."

Such stupid comments to make to someone who may have been trapped anywhere in his mind right now. As Dean continued to watch without sound, he saw Sam's face contort in pain, fear, and anger over and over again. He had no idea what to do, and that was what scared him the most about the entire situation.

"I'm sorry I left." He didn't know why he bothered with the words, but they just felt from his lips. "Just all became too much, man." He cleared his throat. "But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

Dean was vaguely aware of how his words echoed what he'd told Sam before his brother jumped into the pit... _"Sammy, I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you!"_...and he was on the fence as to whether this brought him comfort or made his stomach churn with fear. He hated to think about the confusion, but there was nowhere else for his mind to wander; he was trapped here, forced to stare at Sam, until he figured a way out of the mess.

"You should never have even gotten _into_ this, I should have said yes -" His voice cracked with the last word and he stopped speaking. Like Sam would be able to hear him. Like it would even _matter_ if Dean regretted his answer so much now it kept him awake all night and left him with a pounding headache and a gnawing in his stomach which just wouldn't let up. "I'm so sorry, Sam – for all of this."

That was true. Every last piece of it. Maybe it was the most truthful Dean had been toward Sam in years, but there was every chance this virtuous confession would be worthless. There was every chance Sam would never wake up.

Dean shot to his feet. _No!_ He couldn't think like that. He had to hold onto what he knew, and Dean knew how to save people – he'd been doing it since he was four years old. If he could save hundreds of random strangers, it should be even easier to save someone he truly cared about, more than anything in the world.

He made a tentative move back to the chair and sat once more. He owed it to the man to sit with him, to watch as his eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids, and to try and think of something – _anything_ – to save his little brother from his own mind. Monsters, ghouls, ghosts, demons, angels – all of them he could wrap his head around and off. Humans, the human mind in particular, was beyond him.

"I remember that time Dad said I had to watch out for you, that I might..." he trailed off on the thought and ran a hand over his face before continuing, "Think he knew this far in the future?" Dean couldn't help but let out a short laugh, cut off by the lump rising in his throat.

He tried again. "Or when we were kids. Stuck in this motel rooms, watching TV if we just happened to get one that was actually tuned in – making up ghosts stories if they weren't." He blinked back the blurring of his eyes. "I remember your first hunt – werewolf. You weren't even supposed to be there, man, just followed Dad and me. How old were you? Ten? Eleven? Dad gave you your first handgun the same night – missed by a mile."

Dean smiled down at his brother, remembering the kid he'd once been. Small, smart, always willing to see the good in things. He was still two of those things – though Dean knew the second may not exist anymore, not after all they'd gone through.

"You refused to hunt after that, and I just remember thinking 'good'. I remember being so happy, Sammy, so happy you wanted to try and live a normal life. Then Dad needed our backup and, well, you know what became of that..." Dean shook his head. "Wish you could have escaped that, Sam, then maybe none of this wouldn't happen."

Dean refused to remember that it had all been a fate set in stone years ago by the big man upstairs, that it had been written since the existence of Lucifer and Michael. No matter whether they were hunters or just laymen, Sam and he were doomed to be a part of this. So Dean was back where he started, wishing he'd said yes so Sam would be whole again. Not that the plan was plausible anymore, but, maybe...

Dean knew what he had to do.

...

"Why won't you do it?" Sam yelled. He was back to pulling against the restraints and keeping his eyes trained on Lucifer.

"Oh, come _on_ , Sam!" Lucifer said in exasperation, throwing his arms into the air to match his tone. "It was never about life or death, sane or insane. It's about being trapped, or, should I say, being _free_. You're here because you refuse to let go, Sam, not because I want you to die. Besides, this is just too much fun."

Sam didn't come up with a reply, but he continued to stare as the devil sauntered across the room. Sam's life had become nothing more than a joke to him. Not about sanity or insanity? Not about life or death? If that was true, then why did Sam feel as though these were _exactly_ the themes Lucifer was using when he challenged this duel? He was at a point where he couldn't think of an escape, couldn't manifest a weakness to use on Lucifer.

It was like this white room was preparing to be his tomb. So much for escaping Hell, he should have just stayed there if he was going to die here. Would Heaven even take him now?

...

The sun was dipping in the sky as Dean waited outside, rubbing his sleeves against the cold brought with the shadows. This was his last chance, the last possibility in his mind, of a way to help his little brother.

"Hurry up..." he muttered against the frigid air, puffs of white smoke trailing after the words.

"You called?"

"Jes-" Dean spun around. "Haven't we spoken about personal space?"

Castiel took a step back. "Yes, we have. I apologise." Castiel's eyebrows creased in confusion. "Something is upsetting you?"

Dean nodded, forgetting about his annoyance toward Castiel. "Yeah, uh, it's Sam."

Dean watched Castiel turn away from him and grace his eyes over the building that stood behind them. Dean followed the gaze, knowing that Sam was behind one of those windows on the bottom floor with his mind only God – if even him – knows where.

"He hasn't been the same since he left Hell." It wasn't a question, rather a statement, said in the way one might comment on the weather.

"Of course not," Dean said, unable to keep annoyance from tinging his tone. He knew Castiel was an angel, knew he was unable to grasp some human emotions, but did he really have to be so blasé about everything?

"You should understand that, Dean." Castiel turned to him. "Better than anyone, you have returned from Hell yourself."

"Oh, come _on_ , Cas!" Dean said. "I went to Hell as a man who sold his soul. Sam - Sam went as Lucifer's chew toy!"

"You don't have a great deal of esteem in yourself, do you, Dean?" Castiel took a step forward, but Dean followed with a step in the opposite direction. "Hell is the most torturous place one can imagine, no matter how one makes their way there. Yes, Sam had more hatred garnered from many of the people there, but he was also held in respect by some of the demons whom protected him."

"I don't want to hear it, Cas," Dean growled, "My brother is in there, holed up wherever Lucifer decided to stow him, and you're my last chance at help." He didn't want to admit he was begging with those last few words, or that his anger was there for no other reason than terror.

Castiel nodded curtly. Without facial movements of emotion, Dean didn't know what he was thinking, but he hoped it was something to benefit Sam. "Take me to his room."


	5. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINAL CHAPTER! More POV shifts. Some definite AU moments while loosely following the canon plotline of "The Born-Again Identity". I will also pre-warn there are some rather in-your-face moments of mental and physical torture. I don't know how far into a higher rating it merges. Please let me know if you think I need a more appropriate rating.

Dean hated the way Castiel stared at Sam's body without doing anything. The sight eerily spoke to him of a time several years ago, after Sam had died the first time from a stab wound. Both times a powerful demon had been involved, but this time he wouldn't die. His heart wouldn't stop beating even once. Dean was going to make sure of that.

"Aren't you gonna do something, Cas?" Dean asked, walking over to Castiel's side and trying to stare the angel in the eye. It didn't work. Castiel's eyes were trained solely on the man lying on a crisp white bed. Dean wanted him back on the dingy motel beds or on the leather seats of the Impala. White never suited Sam.

After several painstakingly slow seconds, Castiel finally turned to Dean. "There is nothing left to rebuild here."

Dean tried to search Castiel eyes for some sort of further explanation, the words not registering... _rebuild?_...what did that even mean? "Cas - what?"

"What Sam experienced in Hell, it's far beyond what I imagined. His mind has effectively been forced to break away from itself, and Sam has been pulled back to the darkest part. I don't believe it possible to bring him back."

Dean raised his hand and struck a finger toward his brother. "You told me what Sam and I experienced was the same. I'm fine!"

"Be quieter, Dean, there are nurses just beyond the door ready to make you leave." Dean then heard Castiel sigh. "You had the capacity to cope. I am not sure why, but you were able to process what you went through in a way Sam has not been capable of."

Dean moved closer to Castiel, and his eyes must have been shooting daggers in the process. Be quieter? How? Castiel had just told him his brother was going to be stuck a comatose zombie for the rest of existence, his mind somewhere with the Little Girl Lost. "I am _not_ stronger than my brother. Fix him."

"It's not possible, Dean."

Dean reached out a hand and grasped Castiel's arm, nails digging into the material of his trench coat. "Cas – you're a frigging angel, _anything_ should be possible for you!"

"Only my father has that kind of power," Castiel replied, his voice as monotone as ever. That was another thing Dean hated. His brother was dying and all Castiel – his last hope and solace – could do was stare down at him and say it was all hopeless.

"Then how about you dial up to angel broadband and call him down here to help Sam?" Dean demanded.

For the first time since Dean had contacted him, he saw Castiel's eyes change. They hardened, something akin to anger even flashed through them. Seeing anger in an angel was startling, and Dean took an innervated step backwards in response.

"Don't mock me, Dean. " Then Castiel turned back to Sam and Dean couldn't catch his eyes again. "You may be the most prominent key we have to the slim chance of returning your brother. You have been to Hell. What did you experience?"

"Jeez - Cas." Dean took another step back as a flash of Alastair shot through his mind.

"So you coped by running." Like was his usual fashion, what should have been a question transformed into a statement. "Are you going to run from your brother now?"

For a moment Dean could do nothing more than stare at Castiel. His felt his lip even start to curl in resentment toward what Castiel was implying. "I have _always_ been there for Sam! Even when Dad left, even after _you_ abandoned us. Me and Sam against the world, and I'll be damned if you try and convince me otherwise!"

Dean watched Castiel's brows furrow, but he cut his eyes past Cas and focused them back on his brother. Within three steps he was back by his side, hand brushing across Sam's arm which was too cold to be natural. "C'mon Sammy – wake up."

...

"No, Sammy; stay asleep with me!" Lucifer had a sadistic grin upon his face, baring teeth toward Sam as he paced the floor, circling Sam's bed as though Sam were some kind of prey. That was just what he was. Prey. A meal for the devil. Sam pulled against the restraints which had returned to his wrists and ankles.

"Did you hear what that _angel_ –" he spat the word "– said? You're trapped here, Sam – might as well make the most of it."

Sam set his jaw and focused his eyes on a spot on the white wall. He'd heard Castiel all right. Every word, of course it had been in the way of Lucifer's voice. He was just mocking by asking. Sam also knew that.

"Do you know what your brother experienced in Hell?"

Sam said nothing.

"Well, I think we have time for a little story, don't you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "How about I give you a choice, huh, Sammy?" Again, no time for response. "Would you rather learn by listening to my richly smooth voice, or would you like to get the full show – video power and all?"

 _That_ sent Sam's head snapping around to stare Lucifer down. "What are you talking about?"

He shouldn't have said anything. Lucifer's grin widened and even more of his teeth showed than Sam thought possible. "Movie _and_ commentary it is! Good choice, Sammy – it's the one I would have picked, too." Lucifer offered a wink before he clicked his fingers.

Suddenly, the white walls around Sam seemed to almost melt away, being pulled down into the floor and, ever so slowly, being replaced by darkness. Everywhere Sam's eyes turned that same murky dark green was plastered over the walls. He sought out Lucifer, who was nowhere to be found.

Staring at the walls, he soon came to the realisation of where this was. The images grew clearer, and it became like a set of televisions in a huge department store. The same video playing on them all, magnified a thousand times, surrounding him. Sam yanked at the restraints, forgetting he was trapped. He needed to get out. Now. He couldn't stay. He couldn't watch the screen as he saw his brother strung up on chains, hooks digging into the skin and blood running down his body and staining his grey shirt a black-red. Sam squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the images. It didn't even remind him of his own time in the cage, but the thought of what Dean went through. Of what his brother was forced to endure during his own forth month stay with Lucifer and the demons. Sam felt sick. He pulled harder at the leather on his wrists.

Despite all of this, the worst was yet to come.

He could pull his eyes shut and ignore the images, but he couldn't ignore the sound that soon boomed and echoed through the room. "Sam? Sam!" Dean's tortured yells of fear pierced Sam's ears.

"No..." Despite himself, Sam couldn't set his jaw anymore. Anything Lucifer could throw at him, he could cope with. The burns, the yells, the sleep deprivation, the insults, the words of fear – what he couldn't cope with was his brother being ripped apart, the yells for Sam that came from each strike of what sounded like leather on skin, or the sizzle of heat burning flesh. Sam ripped his eyes open and yelled, "What do you want?"

Lucifer's voice boomed through the room, and took over the sounds of Dean. For that Sam was grateful. It was almost a relief, a sickening relief. "I want you to promise to stay here with me, Sammy. Back here in Hell. Forget about your brother, and I'll never bring him back into our little conversations again. You be my permanent vessel, you be my permanent _partner_ , and we'll get along just peachy. Whad'da ya say, pal?"

Sam tried to breathe. He tried to regain his composure now that Dean's pain wasn't in his ears. He tried to think logically about what Lucifer had just asked of him, about what was happening in this hallucinated room.

Lucifer wasn't real. This room wasn't real. That video wasn't real. Those screams weren't rule.

_But they sure sounded real..._

No!

"Tick tock, Sammy. Would more video and audio imagery of your brother help your decision along?"

As soon as his question reached its peak, Dean's voice filled the room once more. It wasn't the strong, sure voice Sam was so used to – it was a voice of fear and pain. He couldn't stand it. Of _course_ he couldn't – this was his mind. This was the way his mind would work to punish him.

Dean kept calling for him, amidst screams of pain and more of weapons being used on him. Sam could pick out some – the type of weapons he and Dean would use on supernatural monsters. Was this payback? Was Hell a place you felt the pain you put on others? What about all Dean did? All the people he saved?

 _NO!_ It was all in his head; it was all just an illusion. Sam needed to remember that, needed to _meditate_ on that.

"I'm waiting, Sam."

He also needed Lucifer to shut both his mouth and the video.

"Okay, okay!" Sam sighed, breathing in through his nose and trying to grasp onto any composure he had left. "I'll do it."

...

"There is a way I can help your brother."

Dean looked up from the chair he was sitting on with his head pressed to his hands. He had managed to zone himself out, to forget what was happening to Sam. At least by living in the moment he could keep faith that Sam was here and he was breathing. Looking into the future was too bleak to cope with. Now Castiel had spoken. "What? How? God finally tuned in?"

"No, Dean. It won't be possible to make this disappear completely, but I may be able to shift it."

Dean just stared at him. "Shift?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. It won't alleviate everything, but you will have Sam back on his feet."

Dean nodded slowly, his eyes shifting from Castiel to Sam and back again. "I know enough about angel mumbo-jumbo to know that's not all there is to it, Cas. What's the catch?"

For the first time since knowing him, Dean saw Castiel stall and falter before offering an answer. "Nothing."

"Cas -"

"It's the only way, Dean." Castiel turned from him then and Dean watched him place a hand on Sam's chest. He flinched, his face contorting into a look of pain.

"Wait, Cas, what are you doing?" Dean got to his feet and hurried over to Castiel, ready to reach out a hand and yank him off Sam if need be. Instead he just dropped to Sam's side and knew it was his last hope.

"Now, Sam..."

...

Sam writhed in the sudden pain he was met with, but at least Dean's pain-filled voice was gone.

"This may hurt. And if I can't tell you again..."

The confusion of the words made Sam open his eyes and look wildly around.

...

"...I'm sorry I ever got you into this man," Dean said.

Dean squeezed his hand into Sam's and watched in a sense of horror as his brother started to glow a fiery red. He was moving against the bed, arching up and groaning in pain as Dean watched as the red spread, moving down Sam's neck and up Castiel's arm. Sam gasped in pain, like someone who came up from holding their breath underwater. Dean squeezed his hand tighter. _Please, Cas, please_.

Then it stopped.

...

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes opened slowly, his head feeling like it was filled with a mixture of cotton wool and bricks. He coughed and swallowed a dry, sore throat. "Dean?"

"Sam!"

Sam looked around toward his brother's voice, trying to break through the layer of darkness that still coated his eyes. It was like coming out of a deep, alcohol-fuelled sleep. All groggy and nauseous as he tried to remember back to the night before. Only there wasn't much difficulty in remembering; and he wanted to forget it all. His eyes swept over someone who was not Dean, and it took his mind a moment to grasp the fitting name.

"Cas? Cas, is that you?"

Almost as soon as he said the words, Sam watched as Castiel jumped to his feet and backed his way across the room, pressing his back and palms against the wall. This was perhaps the first time Sam had seen Castiel show emotion. Sam's eyes sought out Dean's, and that same worry he felt he found in them.

...

"You think he's gonna be okay?"

Dean looked at Sam over the hood of the Impala, studying him a little too intensely. He was willing himself not to give Sam the full interrogation treatment, but after what Castiel was like when they left him in the loony hospital, Dean knew there was more to what Sam experienced than met they eye. And that Cas had been wrong when he said Sam and Dean experienced the same Hell. "Yeah. He's got Meg."

Sam wrinkled his nose. It was a slight movement, and one that hardly changed his face, but Dean still noticed. "She's a demon, Dean. And he's an angel. Don't you see anything wrong with that picture?"

Dean just had to shrug. "We've used crazier plans." Rather than let Sam question him further, he opened the door to his car and got in. Sam did the same as Dean started the engine and pulled onto the road.

"You gonna stop staring at me anytime soon?"

"Yeah, when I know you're okay."

"I'm fine, Dean."

Dean didn't believe him. He knew Sam – better than anyone. The slightest alteration in his speech or face was enough to send out warning bells that something was up. Admittedly he had reason to be a bit messed up, after all that happened less than an hour ago, but Dean was looking for immediate signs of cracking. He didn't want to pull out onto the highway of Sam would be right back in that white hospital he could still see from his rear-view mirror.

"Dean, seriously." Sam lifted his hand, the one still covered in a bandage. Though, for the first time, Dean saw it was a clean white and not covered in blood of a never-healing wound. "See – he's gone."

Dean nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced. "What did Lucifer do to you?" Sam's eyes darkened and his hand lowered. Now Dean knew Sam was only faking this strong, silent demeanour. Without waiting another mile, Dean turned the car off the road and shut off the engine. He turned to his brother. "You know what happens when you don't talk about this, don't you?"

Sam didn't look at him.

"Sam! We had to leave Cas back there trapped in his own mind because you wouldn't tell that you were hallucinating about the man downstairs!"

Still Sam said nothing, still Sam refused to turn.

"Sam! This isn't the time for you to get your panties all in a twist."

"What do you want to hear, Dean?" Sam demanded, still facing out the windscreen of the car. "What could I possibly say to make the fact Castiel is trapped with those thoughts _better_? That I'm guilty? Of course I feel guilty! That I'm afraid Lucifer's gonna come back and all Cas did was for nothing? Of course I'm thinking that!"

Dean stared at his brother trying to formulate something to say to try and make it all better. "Well then we just have to find a way to make sure that won't happen. Talk about it! Figure out how to make it better."

"How, Dean?" Now Sam finally turned to face him. "Did _you_ ever talk about Hell?"

"This is different," Dean said and set his jaw.

"How?"

Now it was Dean's turn to stare out at the road ahead of him. That vast road of the United States of America they had driven over a hundred times before. Since they were kids, travelling through state after state. He wouldn't be surprised to learn the Impala had driven over every highway in the country. Just the two of them but, sitting here, it felt as though Dean didn't recognise the man sitting next to him at all.

"Well?"

"Because I wasn't Lucifer's bitch," he responded finally.

Sam scoffed. "Right, Dean, because that would've made Hell all that much easier."

Dean just kept staring forward. He couldn't look at Sam, because looking at Sam now just brought back too many memories and visions of his time downstairs. He'd managed to bury that deep down and it was fine like that. He didn't want to admit that Sam's crazy spell had made him terrified of the possibility of the visions returning. He wanted Sam better so they could move forward and forget about Hell. Forget about it forever.

"He showed me."

"Showed you what?" Dean watched the cars pass them.

"Your time in Hell."

Dean looked at his brother from the corner of his eye, not sure what he should be feeling. Not sure if he even believed what Sam was saying.

"You hanging from hooks, you covered in blood, you -" Sam trailed off and cleared his throat while Dean's heart moved to his throat and lodged there, leaving his chest empty and his stomach at his feet.

"He wasn't _real_ , Sam - he -" Dean didn't know what to say. He couldn't say anything. Heat prickled in the back of his eyes as those scenes Sam had just reminded him of flashed through his mind. He was glad the car was parked, because he was just about ready to run.

"How could I know that if he wasn't real?" Sam's voice was quiet, meek, confused.

Dean couldn't look at him. "Your mind – it just made it up, it -"

He could see Sam shake his head. "No, because the way you're looking right now? I know I just hit something. Dean, I don't think we left Castiel with just my broken mind -"

"Sam!" Dean's hands slammed against the steering wheel. "Stop it – stop trying to make it worse!"

"You wanted to talk, Dean," Sam insisted, "I'm telling you how I feel!"

Dean ran a hand across his face, willing himself to gain some composure, or even just to kick-start his breathing again. He cleared his throat, trying to move his heart back down into his chest. None of it helped, none of it cleared his mind enough to respond to Sam. He was the big brother, the one who was supposed to keep him going. He didn't even think he could start the car again.

"He wasn't real, Sam," he finally managed to get out. It was choked and it wasn't at all convincing in tone, but he needed Sam to accept it. Even to just humour him. _Please, Sammy, please_. He turned to his brother and studied his face.

Sam gave a slow nod. It was even less convincing than Dean's words, but Dean could ignore that. He could deal with pretending, because he was too weak to accept the truth. He hated himself for it.

"Tell me about Hell," Sam said, staring Dean square in the eyes.

Dean started to shake his head. _No, Sammy, you don't want to know._ "You were there yourself, isn't that enough?"

Sam said nothing. His eyes went back to the road, and Dean's eyes followed. The whole world, out there for them to live, and they were both trapped somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah – it's a bit cryptic. My original outline had it finish on a happy note...but I had a change of heart amidst writing. I hope you liked it. I also have an idea for a prequel to this, though it's debatable whether or not I will type it up. Let me know if you'd be interested in reading if I did so!


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